The Scent of Wine
John Kemp
It's a glum land
theat February rules, one
that seems hard set
like that ancient stone
beside the Roman road
that rears irs changeless head
always, even in the summer
when beset by nettles;
but now, as I fling
a bale of hay onto
the bony ground
it mimics a standing stone,
briefly, until I cut the binder twine
when, from out the dusty
bale of summer, bursts
astonishing, the scent of wine.
